


Unwoven

by epeeblade



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dark, M/M, POV Outsider, POV Second Person, Trope Bingo Round 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epeeblade/pseuds/epeeblade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You wake up next to Phil Coulson's warm body and curse yourself for falling asleep. Seducing him is part of the job. Letting your guard down isn't. You take a moment to admire the long lines of Coulson's back, the width of his shoulders, and the strength in those thighs that had bracketed you last night. Then you ease the covers off of your legs and slip out of the bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwoven

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to auchterlonie and lapillus for the beta (the latter who went above and beyond this time!). All mistakes are my own, especially with the tenses. Remind me never to do present tense again.
> 
> Warning - for implied issues of consent, though there's nothing explicit, what's implied might be triggering.
> 
> This story idea came to me in a dream under the influence of a lot of cold meds.
> 
> Um. I'd like to use this for my "free space" on my trope bingo card for 'mind games'.

You wake up next to Phil Coulson's warm body and curse yourself for falling asleep. Seducing him is part of the job. Letting your guard down isn't. You take a moment to admire the long lines of Coulson's back, the width of his shoulders, and the strength in those thighs that had bracketed you last night. Then you ease the covers off of your legs and slip out of the bed.

Your suit is in a wreck on the floor, but you hang it up in the bathroom before you shower. The steam gets most of the wrinkles out. You move quickly, even though Coulson will be out for some time. The drugs you put in his wine will ensure that.

You make it to the SHIELD office in record time. Luck is with you and you are intercepted by Maria Hill, who hands you a stack of DVDs.

"Here are the reports for you to analyze, Agent Smith." Her smile is brittle and hard, much like she is. "That is why you are here, correct?"

You don't pause at the suspicion in her voice. After all, no one would welcome an officer of Internal Affairs. If that particular officer just happens to be dead and moldering in the East River, it is not for Agent Hill to guess. You simply smile and say, "Yes, thank you, Miss Hill." You always call her "Miss" because you know how much it pisses her off. "It would be so much more efficient if I could access the server myself."

She arches an eyebrow. "You know that goes against protocol. All pertinent reports have been downloaded in a variety of formats for ease of access. Shall I escort you to your cubicle?"

Another insult, if you were who they thought you were. "No, that won't be necessary. I know my way there." And that way involves walking past Coulson's office with the keycard you conveniently slipped from his pocket last night and the password you watched him enter on his laptop at home to deal with a crisis before bed.

You wait until Hill nods and disappears into a lift before walking in the proper direction. You don't walk too fast, even though you know your time is limited. 

"Smith." A voice growls.

You turn to see Agent Barton barreling in your direction. His hands are still shaking from the neurotoxin you put in his coffee. It was your last ditch attempt to get him out of the way, short of actually killing him. His death would be far too suspicious at this juncture. That doesn't mean you aren't ruling it out once the mission is complete.

"Agent Barton." You deliberately widen your eyes and gape like a fish. "Shouldn't you be in medical? You look simply awful!"

His stares daggers at you, his expression enough to stop an elephant at a thousand paces. "Where's Coulson?"

Oh dear. Does he have his panties in a twist over you seducing his boyfriend? If he only knew! "On his way to visit you, I imagine. In Medical. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do."

You brush past him, knowing it's a risk. Barton is harmless right now. He must be exerting so much will power in order to even stand on his own two feet. The neurotoxin will be turning all of his nerves to jelly. The effects will be permanent if he isn't administered the antidote within the next twenty-four hours. You wonder if the geniuses in Medical have figured it out yet. Last you heard, the gossips say they are treating Barton for 'stress.'

Fools.

You turn the corner, relieved to find the hallway empty. Coulson's keycard is in your hand, and as you reach to swipe it his voice echoes down the corridor.

"Drop it." 

You freeze. You'd left Coulson drugged and dead to the world. He shouldn't be standing there holding you at gunpoint. You raise your hands as if you were innocent and plaster a sheepish smile on your face. "Okay, you got me, Phil. Your office is just so comfortable I wanted to get my work done in there. No harm done, right?"

Phil's face could cut granite. "No harm? Is that what you tell yourself when you sell secrets to Hydra?"

Does he only suspect, or does he know? You move your hands, so they are reaching out to him, the better to reach your sidearm. "Phil? What are you talking about? I know nobody is happy about Internal Affairs being here, but to accuse me of working with Hydra?"

Clearly the jig is up. You have maybe five minutes to take Coulson out, access his computer and make it out of the base. Your hand slips to your pocket, but before you can retrieve your weapon – the plastic gun that makes it through all metal detectors – there is a whirring in the air and your sleeve is pinned to the wall by a purple fletched arrow. 

You stare at it in shock. "How?"

Barton pops out of a panel in the ceiling, dropping to the floor with the grace of a leopard. "You honestly thought I was too stupid not to notice you slipping something in my drink?"

But he'd had all the correct symptoms. How could he have faked them? You narrow your eyes. He hadn't. He'd drunk the coffee, knowing it was drugged, just to see what you would do. Medical must have synthesized the antidote from the leftover coffee shortly after he was admitted. You didn't remember to follow up with the half-empty cup. Sloppy on your part. "You clever bastard."

“The most damning evidence, of course…,” Phil begins as he reaches into your pocket and removes your weapon. He hands it to Barton before patting you down head to toe as Barton keeps a pistol trained in your direction. “…is that you talk in your sleep.”

You open your mouth to protest. But then it hits you. You hadn't seduced Coulson last night. He'd seduced you. You remember drinking a nightcap, and pleasure and warmth, but had that really happened? You touch your forehead. "What did you do to me?"

"Let's just say that I've far more experience with doctoring drinks. But you wouldn't remember that." Phil looks far too pleased with himself.

Barton snorts at your expression of horror. "Like it was any worse than what you planned for him. Or for me."

Coulson has found your backup gun strapped to your ankle, your utility knife, and the packet of drugs in your pocket. He tears your sleeve from the arrow and binds both your wrists with plastic ties. The indignity of it insults you. "Now, if you would be so kind as to tell us where the real Agent Smith is?"

You smile. Fuck it. They are about to take you to the dungeons of SHIELD. "Dead. Just like you will be. You think you've stopped me? How far did I get into your precious organization before I slipped? You were lucky that I didn't kill you with my neurotoxin. That's all it was. Luck. If you poor bastards think otherwise, you are fools. This is only the beginning. We are everywhere. You…"

The words are stopped by Barton's fist. You sink to the floor. It all goes black.


End file.
